


Not Enough, Enough (I Don't Know Anymore)

by AmbroseRivers



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety/Panic Attack, Depression, Established Relationship, M/M, Negative Self Talk, Second person POV, self harm mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 15:17:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13274196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmbroseRivers/pseuds/AmbroseRivers
Summary: Dan struggles with a coping mechanism he has not left behind.OR: It's a bad night.





	Not Enough, Enough (I Don't Know Anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the warnings, be safe, and proceed with caution.  
> To be on the safe side- These are your WARNINGS: Self-harm mention, negative self talk, depression, and anxiety/panic attacks.

_Sometimes you have to know when to give up._

You grit your teeth in a silent snarl as your mind taunts you, squeezing your body into a tighter coil against an enemy you can’t fight. There’s something buzzing in your chest cavity- dark, droning pressing against your breakable ( _so easily breakable)_  ribs- and it’s hurting you but you don’t let a sound escape, tears zigzagging down your cheeks.

_What are you worth really?_

You don’t know- you’ve been asking yourself that for years. There’s a whole list of videos to your name with overdone, outdated jokes and a flash of your body because back then… it wasn’t what it is now. There weren’t so many eyes on you, cataloguing your every move frame by agonizing frame, scrutinizing the way you glance at him, glimpsing shards of a heart you had hoped you hidden well after it got to be too much and you decided to guard yourself and your tattered mind.

_They don’t love you. They love what you produce. They love how you look at him._

Your fist is shoved against your teeth now and you desperately try to dampen your cries by clamping the unforgiving, unmovable points into your flesh because maybe…maybe the pain will help.

Phil is up late tonight, editing, and he is holed up in the office with your headphones situated over his ears.

_Pain will help._

You bite down harder, curl even more into yourself, because you have to resist.

You’re better than this.

_Are you?_

Your eyes sting and ache from the salt and your nose is clogged.  _You can’t fucking breathe._

_Just once and it’ll stop. Just once and you’ll be okay._

You know you could. There’s a hidden weapon that you can’t bear to part with even as you’ve been getting better…even as the days get a little bit easier to get out of bed.

_Do you really think you’re okay? That he loves you?_

_Who loves someone who does that to themselves?_

You break.

There’s no other word for it and you are sobbing freely as you stand, stumbling to the door and wrenching it open.

You can barely see but you’re desperate and just want it to  _stop, stop, please, just stop._ Your hand slams against the knob and you paw at it, unable to function with your brain exploding into a thousand shards of glass that wedge into your lungs and make you feel as if your drowning and  ** _oh, god-_**

The door swings open and he glances at you, eyes dropping habitually, before he is on his feet, yanking the wire from the tower with the force of his movement.

You just cry, shielding your face, because you know you look horrible and pathetic but it hurts, hurts, hurts-

**_You made a mistake. Pain will make it stop._ **

“Dan,” He’s calling out to you and there’s fluttering brushes against your cupped hands, your messy hair, your shoulders. “Dan, can you hear me? Can I touch you?”

**_You think this will help? He can’t fix you._ **

Your volume escalates and you're babbling incoherently, jerking your head up and down, and even you don’t know what you’re saying…if your pleading, begging, or just plain screaming-

His hands are carding through your hair and you collapse against him, clawing at his sleeping shirt and smearing all the nastiness your body and soul has to offer on the bright blue fabric. You’re still talking and you realize that all you’re saying is, “Please…I can’t…Phil…Please. Please.” and you know that he knows what you mean because he gently pulls you to the futon, left arm encircling you in a vice while you bury your face in the crook of his neck.

It loosens the knot in your chest a fraction, just a microscopic fraction, and it helps you draw a proper, jittery breath.

His right hand presses against your ear so the sounds of his recorded voice is muffled and you can hear the rumble of his wordless hums vibrating through his chest, distorted by the nonexistent space between your ear and his solid presence.

“It’s a bad night,” You force through the lump in your throat because you have to explain. You have to apologize. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” He rests his chin on the top of your head and you squish your bodies closer together to soak in the heat that is relaxing your bunched muscles. “I got you.”

That’s the best he can do because you…you have to learn to navigate the scorched battlefield of your mind and you’ve only begun to take small steps to avoiding the minefields but…

That’s enough for now. It’s a beginning.

_You just have to get through the night._

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted to my Tumblr: loveinthebones.  
> This was a vent piece because I needed an outlet for the negativity that my brain sometimes dumps on me.


End file.
